and pleased with my present position. Lady Henry was a kind, warm, open-hearted woman, and better informed than the generality of her countrywomen. She seemed to adore her husband, who returned her love with the most devoted affection. He had served in the peninsular war, under the Duke, and had married, as I understood, his present lady while in Spain.

He was a very handsome man, about thirty years of age, had seen a great deal of service, and, of course, much of the world; which latter circumstance was fortunate, as Lady Henry, having been brought up in a convent, had seen nothing of it before her marriage, and very little since, so that if left to herself, with her imperfect knowledge of the English language, she might, and indeed had been, in the case of almost all her female attendants, often grossly imposed upon.

This had made her husband so cautious and anxious while treating with me; but as Lord Henry afterwards always showed me so much quiet, gentlemanly attention, and was so par

VOL. II.

M

ticular in always directing that I should be properly accommodated, and in expressing his wish that I should attend his wife more as a companion than a servant, I felt convinced I was right in supposing that Colonel D'Arcy had imparted to his friend his generous intentions towards me, and his conviction that I was the very person to be placed in a confidential situation about his innocent wife. I did all in my power to deserve this confidence.

We slept one night at Calais, and the next day started for St. Omer, and as this is the beginning of a long journey, I may as well enumerate the number and disposition of our equipage. The carriage was a barouche, holding four inside. Sometimes Carlos and myself occupied a seat there, with our lord and lady, sometimes we went in the rumble. At other times, Lady Henry and I were alone, while Lord Henry would occupy an outside seat with Carlos.

In the dickey sat Griffith Evan, a passionate but very kind-hearted Welshman. He had been Lord Henry's personal attendant for

upwards of twenty years, and was about the same age as his master. The groom, Patrick O'Grady, had served in the same regiment with his lord; he was about forty years of age, and one of the merriest creatures I ever met with, and was equally attached with Griffith to his master.

It was singular enough, that of the six persons of which our party consisted, only two were of the same country; for Carlos was born in Portugal though his parents were Spanish, at least his mother was. Lady Henry was a Spaniard, her lord an Englishman, Griffith a Welshman, and Patrick an Irishman. As to myself, (though born in England,) my parents, as I have already mentioned, were the natives of two different countries. And yet I do not remember ever seeing a party more disposed to amalgamate and go on smoothly together than ours.

We slept at St. Omer the first night, and passed, without stopping, except to sleep or change horses, through Lisle, Tournay, Ath,

Enghien, and Halle, and reached Brussels the fourth evening after leaving Calais.

We took up our abode at a noble hotel in the Place Royale, which was filled with English. Here we remained a month, as there were some friends in Brussels whom Lady Henry had not seen since she had left Spain, and was therefore naturally anxious to visit.

Her principal attraction was a convent of the Sisters of Mercy, where resided a friend whom she visited daily.

After we had been three weeks at Brussels, finding that I had never seen a convent, Lady Henry kindly offered to take me with her. We drove up to a gloomy-looking building, in a narrow, dismal street, without a single window next to it. Nothing but a strong narrow door in the wall was to be seen. On ringing the bell, a small shutter of a grated aperture in the door was slipped back, and the face of a lay sister appeared.

Seeing who it was that rang, she instantly admitted us into a long, dark passage, the end

of which opened into a small square court. Round it ran a cloister, the walls of which were ornamented, or I should rather say defaced, by the strangest and most uncouth images of saints and martyrs. The nun then conducted us into a parlour, the grated windows of which opened into a dark, ill-kept kitchen garden, walled all round. Even this miserable garden was not exempt from a strange assemblage of wooden angels, painted in the most glaring colours.

In a conspicuous part, so as to be seen from the window, was a huge wooden figure of our blessed Saviour, painted in the rudest style, and surrounded by hideous little figures, intended to represent angels catching the blood, which was represented by a painted tin pipe, spouting from his side. It was altogether a most distressing sight.

My mistress had, of course, been brought up a Papist, but, believing that the religion of her beloved husband must be the right one, she had not hesitated to adopt it immediately after her marriage, and she sincerely endeavoured to understand and follow it. Occasionally, how